I can hear it in my voice. It isn’t pretty. And it is so present.

I am resentful. I am bitter. I am wronged and it twangs against my heart to know it and to feel it

It is a STORY, and it is magnificent, how very wronged I am.

I am mad about it. But not healthy mad…sniveling, pitful resentful and powerless mad

dark corner hooded eye angry

you know who will tell you all the ways things didn’t go right?

The loser

i do not want to be the loser.

I am NOT the loser because

I AM NOT DONE

I want to re-write the story. I have to re-write it. Even if It’s a cliff hanger

Where will we see our heroine next?
How on earth will she get out of this scrape?

Boy, I like the sound of that a lot better than theone where I snivel.

I AM NOT DONE YET

My magnum opus, currently titled The Russian American School of Tomorrow (rasot) is under the scrutiny of beta readers

My beta readers have pointed out some discrepencies and confusing parts. In one section, I describe the shopping for bread in Russia:

I saw a dark building right by; that must be the bread store. I ducked in, the warm yeasty smell so inviting after the freezing outside. Darker inside than out, it was quite small. Raw plywood sheets had been nailed against two-by-fours around the top half of the room, to create slanted bread bins. Some of the shelves even had the tall dense loaves on them. The bread was naked to the touch and cost 75 kopeks.

My reader asked what I meant by “naked to the touch.” Was I being overly poetic?

I meant that they weren’t in plastic bags, or any kind of bag. Plastic bags existed in Mirnyy in 1992, but not the throwaway disposable kind we have become accustomed to. For all  I know, Russia is as coated in plastic now as America was then.

Are you thinking what I’m thinking? I am thinking of the movie “The Graduate” One word. Plastics.

I was watching the outstanding Genius of Design again. It was the episode that talks about the chair…the one-piece plastic chair. Back when it was avant garde art. Now it is 6 dollars each at the big box store. Because of plastic. We think in plastic. The guy at the end of the documentary said “Plastic is 100% human intelligence”

Oh boy. Now we have to think about that. What is plastic? What is human intelligence?

The plastic that first was used to invent the one-piece chair isn’t the same plastic we use now. We have better plastic. We have better intelligence.

Maybe.

Plastic has taken on a new meaning. It is an adjective and an adverb. We should be plastic. We should be especiallly plastic about our ideas of plastic.

Wanting things to be moldable and pleasant to the touch and durable and manufacturable…We have a new technology. It’s all over the news right now. 3D printers use plastics to take a thought–a computer drawing–and make them real.

they use more than plastic. We have made other materials more plastic. Metal has been changed and treated into a powder which will react and then solidify with a 3D printer.

So will wood, when made into the right form.

The idea of plastic has been so compelling, so seductive, that we are inventing plastics that aren’t plastic.

And now I am thinking of something Margaret Fuller said:

Whatever the soul knows how to seek, it cannot fail to obtain.

This hymn to me is talking about work. I love to work. And I hate work a lot of the time. So, this hymn is comforting.

Lord of Light Your Name Outshining

Lord of light, your name outshining all the stars and suns of space,
use our talents in your kingdom as the servants of your grace.
Use us to fulfill your purpose in the gift of Christ your Son.
Lord of light, as in highest heaven, so on earth Thy will be done.

2.
By the toil of faithful workers in some far outlying field,
by the courage, where the radiance of the cross is still revealed,
by the victories of meekness, through reproach and suff’ring won.
Lord of light, as in highest heaven, so on earth Thy will be done.

3.
Grant that knowledge, still increasing, at your feet may lowly kneel.
With your grace our triumphs hallow, with your charity our zeal.
Lift the nations from the shadows to the gladness of the sun –
Lord of light, as in highest heaven, so on earth Thy will be done.

4.
By the prayers of faithful watchers, never silent day or night,
by the cross of Jesus, bringing peace to all, and healing light,
by the love that passes knowledge, making all your children one,
Lord of light, as in highest heaven, so on earth Thy will be done.

My empowerment class, my new friend Ferdinando, and dooleys book

The gems personality system, the sales training

I have been inhaling new learning

I am hitting a wall.. I know I have encountered these ideas and I have not integrated them

I have not stopped to do things… Other things I like.

There is A lesson not integrated there too. Things I like are important

It is time to do the homework. Time to get organized in thought and action

My power is not only powerful within context. I am a compound, I can do me anytime anywhere.

I don’t need specific cooperation from one entity–person, job, business. Not because i don’t need cooperation to get what I want, but because there are many many possible cooperators and collaborators.

I have to focus on my goals, and my abstract wants to get there.

Specific frustrations are a waste of energy

Forgive, but don’t forget. That’s been my policy. It’s not that I want to hold a grudge; it is a self preservation thing. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice shame on me. I don’t need a second helping of

betrayal

disappointment

embarrassment

disrespect

lies

backstabbing

exploitation

So I will remember. I will hold it to my belly, curl around it and protect myself from that sort of thng ever happening again. I will be safe, remembering that horrible thing–never forget–what was done to me. I can cherish the memory, polish and refine it with names. Those people who did me wrong, they were

alcoholic

abusive

mentally ill

and more! with these labeles, I have categories for my victimhood and have bolstered it. I have a powerful stance, an informed and logical, backed-by-science victimhood and a reason to never never never forget.

If i make sure to be careful and protect myself from these bad guys and their hurtful scary ways, I can avoid the situations and encounters that will bring me more pain.

I’ve been thinking about this; about forgiveness and broken trust and my own safety.

I remembered this book. Steve Martin the comedian writes books now, and one of them, The Pleasure of My Company, is about a man who suffers from obsessive compulsive disorder. He’s really smart, and he has locked himself into these rules.

Every day, he must overcome  extraordinary obstacles to just exist. One of his fears is of stepping off curbs–he can only leave his side of the street when a driveway provides a sloped descent into the street AND a corresponding driveway directly across the street provides an onramp. Not diagonal, only directly across.

Therefore, to get from his apartment to a local store to get necessary items, he takes a very circuitous route. It takes more than an hour to walk a few blocks to Rite Aid. He hates this, but he must abide by these rules in order for the world to be okay. He regrets how much time it takes, but his life requires it.

How much have I re-routed the natural straight line of my life by all my fears? That one over there hurt me so much once, I can never speak to him again. This one nearby has nothing noticeably questionable going on, but she doesn’t seem to know or agree that THAT one is dangerous, so they are likely in cahoots.

The one over there? Well, he reminds me of the first one, so I better avoid him jsut to be sure.

That’s a long way to walk to avoid getting hurt and being safe.

If there were a way to forgive past the part where I need to remember to protect myself, I could save a lot of time. I want to step off the curb to get where I want to go.

Thoughts I am thinking;
Who am I?
What do I want? Why do I do what I do?
What labels apply to me?
What about those labels DON’T apply to me?
What do I love?
What do I love to do?

Picture it

I have been feelling frustrated that I am not seen.

Yoo Hoo! over here!

again and again I am not taken into consideration

Then it occurred to me, if they don’t see me, I’m the one who has more information. I see me. I know who and what I am.

If “they” don’t know, I am in a superior position.

that makes me feel better.

Merciful moon
You are gentle with my flaws bathing them in softlight
You struggle too
Giving in to the overpowering shadow of other beings
We both find ourselves less then what we could be
All too often

Courageous moon
You succumb and fight on
Never ending example of my struggle in the sky

Someday I might shine like the sun
Blazing fullness always

Until then I have the soft tender moon
Solacing my waxing heart

My husband’s grandfather owned a machine shop, and my grandfather worked in one. That means machine shops were really common once upon a time. Now, the only thing to say is

What’s a machine shop?

It used to be that machines and things required a special made part when they would wear out. So recent and so forever ago, there used to be all sorts of daily-use things that would break. When they broke, they would get fixed. Often the thing that broke was a part. A part of the machine, a piece of the mechanism, needed to be replaced.

It sounds almost medieval now, because we have so standardized everything and mass produced it. To create a new part or retool an old one doesn’t happen nowadays. We buy a new one.

I am pretty sure back then, parts were made to last. I bet part of the reason machine shops were required is because things were older and had been around a long time, were expected to be around and were expected to be maintained.

This idea, like the machines needing to be maintained, is not new to me. I have heard stories about my grandfather—my dad’s dad—all my life. I am thinking about it now because I am thinking I have a worn out part in my personal mechanism.

I’m thinking about my impulse toward gratitude. I have a HUGE scroll of things that frustrate me. I am sick to my teeth of being frustrated. I am tired past bearing of waking up in the middle of the night to think “And another thing…!”

Books and entire industries are dedicated to the idea of gratitude as a happiness lifestyle. “They” say we should keep gratitude journals and in other myriad ways express gratitude. It makes our life work better.

It was my granddad we were talking about–the one who worked on machines. I work with systems and machines too. I see that my gratitude flywheel is not functioning. It needs to be replaced.

I am frustrated again (see how quick I get there?!). Why can’t I just have a durable part, a strong and load-bearing gratitude flywheel? One that doesn’t wear out.

It doesn’t work like that I guess. This one, this part, it wears out on a regular basis. It’s the sort of thing that requires constant refreshing. Some things, like that hammer chisel in Chris’s grandfather’s toolchest, will last for decades and centuries. Other parts have to be replaced every day.

I suppose it is not a part, not a flywheel. It’s more like the oil. I have to keep this heart of mine greased with gratitude or it seizes up.